Craig's Story
by WildClover27
Summary: So when and how did Lt. Garrison meet the young woman he periodically disappears on mysterious missions with?
1. Chapter 1

Craig's Story

Chapter 1

Craig's thumb caressed the back of the soft skinned hand that was clasped gently in his larger one. He fervently wished he could hold and caress more than just the hand of the woman in the Wren uniform who was seated beside him on the bed. He also fervently wished he could go back to the tiny flat in Chelsea with her instead of going back to the Mansion to be cared for by his sister. However, that wasn't even a remote possibility.

Twinkling blue eyes beneath wavy short brown hair watched him above a small red smile. "Are you thinking carnal thoughts, Craig?" she asked with more than a hint of humor.

"Not yet," grinned Garrison, "but I'm working on it."

The young woman shook her head. "My, you must be making a quick recovery," she teased.

"I always make a quick recovery," he replied slyly.

"Yes, you do." She broke into a quiet laugh.

Craig smiled widely. "Any complaints?"

"None at all," she assured him in a soft voice with a hint of northern England and a tiny lilt of Irish.

A faint voice could be heard down the hall behind the closed door. "Can I take him now?"

"Terry," hissed Garrison, losing the grin.

The woman's face fell and then her head darted forward to kiss Craig full on the lips before she leapt to her feet almost knocking her hat off. The door opened and Terry Garrison stopped short to take in the Wren standing at her brother's bedside.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," the woman was saying. "I believe that covers everything."

"Sorry," said Terry. "Am I interrupting?"

The woman turned with a smile. "Oh, not at all, Ma'am. I was just leaving."

Terry took in the wavy brown hair and blue eyes. The face that looked back at her was strictly business. Damn, the woman was good.

"I can go get a cup of coffee, if you need to take care of more business," said Terry.

"That won't be necessary, Ma'am, but thank you," smiled the Wren.

"I – uh – think we covered as much as we can possibly cover," added Craig.

The Wren looked down at Garrison on the bed. "Lieutenant."

"Ma'am," he replied.

Terry stepped back as the female officer walked past her and out the door. Terry peeked around the door into the hall and studied the Second Officer's trim figure from behind. Nice. Funny, Craig usually preferred them a bit older than himself. This one was about her own age. Terry walked back into the room, closing the door behind her, and came to stand where the officer had been standing.

"Ready to blow this place?" she asked her brother.

"Sure," he replied with a casualness that belied the feeling of regret he actually had.

Terry looked down at him and matter-of-factly said, "You have red lipstick over your upper lip."

Garrison casually wiped the lipstick off with the back of his hand. He couldn't miss the smirking smile on his sister's face as she turned to retrieve his clothes from the grip she had dropped on the floor when she entered the room. Craig pushed the covers back and with a grimace, sat up and eased his legs off the bed.

"I thought Actor was coming with you?" he asked. "Is he talking to the doctor?"

"Actor?" asked Terry with a laugh. "We already talked to the doctor. No, he's holding court with the nurses down at the desk." She laid pants, shirt and underwear on the bed beside her brother and frowned. "I hope he doesn't hit on that nice little Wren," she remarked innocently.

"I think the nice little Wren can take care of herself," assured Craig, still not admitting to anything.

He sat a minute on the side of the bed to get his equilibrium back before getting dressed. The concussion was very mild compared to some he had endured, but moving too fast still made him a little light-headed. His eyes followed Terry as she slowly walked around in front of him, taking in the bandages on left upper arm, chest and right shoulder.

"You are a mess," admitted the girl with hands on hips. "If she's out too, that mean your cover's blown?"

"I don't know what you're talking about – _she,_" replied Craig, knowing he couldn't keep much from his sister. "As for my cover, this didn't have anything to do with it. I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"So why did we bomb you?" asked Terry, not understanding the rationale for the Allies bombing such a small village as the one Garrison had been in.

"_We_ didn't," explained Craig. "The Resistance blew up a German troop transport. I just happened to be too close." He looked from the scrub bottoms he was wearing to the clothing on the bed beside him. "Uh, do you mind, Sis?"

"Ahh," she said, getting his meaning immediately. "You need help? You want me to go rescue the nurses from Actor?"

"You mean rescue Actor from the nurses?" shot back Garrison with a grin.

"I really don't think he wants to be rescued," replied Terry.

Craig doubted it also. "No, just turn around."

He waited until his sister had stepped away and obediently turned her back, hands clasped behind her, before standing and untying the cloth belt that held the scrub pants up. He let them drop around his ankles and sat down again. This was not fun. Every move pulled on stitches and torn, abraded flesh. He eyed the bandage around his left thigh. It was the other leg this time. At least the legs were even now in the number and location of scars. Pretty soon his own mother wouldn't recognize him.

Steeling himself to lower his head, he lifted his feet from the scrubs and slipped them into the regulation underpants and then the uniform pants. He straightened and took a breath as the room settled down again. The singlet went on next, carefully easing over the injured arm and shoulder. Garrison leaned forward and grasped the tops of the pants and underwear before standing to pull them up, fasten the outer pants and suck his stomach in to tuck in the singlet. Satisfied he had managed that on his own, he sat back down.

"Uh, Sis," he broached. "Did you bring shoes?"

"Of course," she replied.

Terry dug in the grip and pulled out his high top laced shoes with the socks tucked inside. She squatted down in front of him, tossed the scrubs on the bed and put his socks and shoes on for him. He allowed her to help him get into the shirt. Satisfied he was presentable, Terry headed for the door.

"Let me get a wheelchair and our resident Don Juan and we can get out of here," she said with humor.

Terry watched Actor leaning on both forearms atop the counter in front a group of four young nurses, his face smiling and animated. She wondered what story he was feeding this bunch. They were new and seemed too enthralled with what he was saying to be aware of the confidence man's reputation. One of the nurses looked up and straightened.

"Is Lt. Garrison ready to go?" she asked.

Terry nodded and watched the girl hurry to get a wheelchair. With a smile, the Garrison girl stepped up to stand beside the Italian. Her hand reached stealthily down and pinched the near, firmly rounded, buttock, none too lightly. Actor's head turned slowly in her direction to give a narrow-eyed glare.

"Does the Lieutenant need assistance?" he asked tightly.

"Too late," Terry smiled up at him. "But you could bring the car around to the door, _caro mio._"

The three remaining nurses watched the proprietary interaction between the woman and the handsome man.

"Are you two married to each other?" asked a cute little blonde.

"No!" replied Actor adamantly.

Terry turned to accompany the nurse with the wheelchair back to Craig's room. "He tries not to acknowledge me," she said as she moved out of reach of the con man's long arm. "Or our six kids," she added, barely containing her mirth.

"Teresa!"

"You have six kids?" asked one of the young women incredulously.

"Oh, I'm sure he has more than that," Terry called back. "He just has six children with me."

Garrison eyed his sister as she followed a very circumspect nurse with a wheelchair into his room. He had heard her last remark and could only guess at what had come before that.

"You didn't?" he asked rhetorically.

She just smiled widely.

As Craig was wheeled down the hall, Terry walking serenely beside him, he noticed the nurses at the desk studiously attending to business. The ladies' man was nowhere in sight. As they went through the criss-cross taped glass doors to the outside, he saw the Packard at the curb, both right doors open, Actor standing beside the front passenger door.

"Front or back?" asked Terry.

Garrison took in the thin lipped countenance of his second in command. "I think I better ride in the front," he said. To keep them from killing each other on the way home, he thought to himself.

By the time they had reached the outskirts of London, Actor was beginning to relax. He was keeping a surreptitious eye on the Lieutenant. The doctor had said none of the injuries were major, but together they had caused a good deal of blood loss and weakness.

"How are you doing, Warden?" he asked solicitously. "If you need to stop for any reason please say so. We can always make you comfortable in the backseat."

"No, I'm fine up here, Actor," said Garrison. "And how are you?"

"Just fine," replied the Italian, "…for an old man with six children."

Craig swallowed a laugh, hearing a snicker from the back seat.

Actor glanced in the rearview mirror at the errant woman in the back seat who was grinning back at him. "Only six, _cara_?" he asked sarcastically.

"What are you, Actor? Pushing forty?" asked Terry. "I figure you probably started at twelve. By now you could have populated half of Europe."

"Scheisse," muttered Craig.

The consummate ladies' man's tone became haughty. "Contrary to your apparent misconception, Teresa, I take great pride in seeing that does not occur."

This conversation was becoming unbelievable thought Garrison. And apparently Actor was getting some enjoyment from dishing it back to Terry.

"Terry, I am sure in his line of business," Craig could not help adding, "he cannot risk having something come back and bite him in the rear."

"Speaking of which," started the con man. "Teresa, have I not told you before, nice Italian women do not pinch a man on his _culo_?"

Craig had to laugh at that one. "She's only a quarter Italian, Actor."

'Besides," said a quiet voice from the back, "it's a nice _culo_."

"Terry!" objected her brother.

Actor shook his head and glanced at the officer beside him. "I greatly admire you, Warden," he said.

Craig waited for the other shoe to drop.

"You grew up with her," continued the Italian. "It must have taken great patience and forbearance to not strangle her."

"Couldn't," said Craig. At the older man's glance, he added, "She breaks horses better than the rest of us. We needed her."

"I have no doubt she would break them," said Actor sarcastically, not totally versed in ranch life.

With great difficulty, both Garrisons had to let that one pass.

"He thinks I'm bad," Terry said to her brother, "he still hasn't met your sister."

Craig chuckled at that concept. "Polar opposites, him and Cinder."

"I don't know," mused Terry. "She likes 'em long legged, strong haunched, and wide chested."

Actor turned an exasperated look at Garrison. Craig grinned.

"She's talking about horses," he assured the con man.

"Horses, men, whatever," said Terry. She was having too much fun to let this conversation drop. "Anyway, those four nurses were way too young for you, _caro_."

"I am the man, Teresa," retorted Actor. "I am the best judge of what is too young or too old for me." He could not resist. "And just what did you think I was going to do with four of them?"

Terry shook her head innocently. "Actor, I do not even begin to imagine what your deviations are."

Garrison dropped his head and shook it. He had never heard the two be so blatant before.

"Suffice to say, Little One," Actor tossed back smugly, "you will never be on the receiving end of my 'deviations'."

Craig looked at Actor. "Tell me. When you two are alone at the Mansion, how do you keep from killing each other?"

Terry leaned forward and rubbed Actor's shoulder. "When we're alone at the Mansion, he is usually injured and I take pity on him."

Actor pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and shook one out to the lieutenant. "As I said, Warden, patience and forbearance." He lit both cigarettes and put the lighter back in his pocket with the pack.

"Excuse me," said Terry indignantly. "Where's mine?"

Actor gave a dramatic sigh and took the cigarette from between his lips and held it back for her to take. "They are Gauloises," he warned her, getting another one for himself.

"Why can't you smoke American cigarettes?" grumbled Terry good-naturedly.

"Terry," objected her older brother, "just sit back, smoke your cigarette and quit bothering the man."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," said Actor with a grin. "She is your sister after all, and I would not wish to insult you by telling her to _stai zitta._"

"Go right ahead," grinned Garrison back.

Terry slouched back in the seat trying not to make a face at the strong cigarette she was smoking. "So you didn't get any new names for that little black book of yours?" she asked conversationally.

Garrison exchanged a glance with his second. Too young, mouthed Actor with a curl of his lip.

"Ah, now there was one I wouldn't have minded getting to know," he said, more for Garrison's benefit than the one in the back seat. "There was a perky little Wren who walked by. Brown curly hair and the bluest eyes," he started with a slightly exaggerated tone.

Terry almost choked on the cigarette as she watched the muscles in the back of her brother's neck tighten.

" . . . Curves in all the right places too. She made that uniform look very enticing," continued the confidence man.

Terry slouched further down in the seat, hand over her mouth to hide her silent laughter. She watched Craig's neck muscles tighten even more. She managed to keep the tremor out of her voice. "So you didn't get her number?"

Actor sighed, "Alas, no."

Garrison's neck muscles relaxed.

"All business, that one. Such a pity. British women are becoming more tight-laced now than they were ten years ago."

"Maybe she just likes blondes," remarked Craig snidely.

Terry sputtered in the back.

"Teresa, what is the problem?" asked Actor in annoyance.

"Uh, the cigarette's a little strong," she covered.

"Then stop asking for them."

GGG

Garrison didn't know whether he was relieved or sorry by the time they reached the Mansion. The repartee between his sister and his second had gone on in spurts for the entire drive back from London. It seemed Actor had finally learned how to deal with the girl's teasing by delivering it back to her. And, here and there, Craig had been included in the byplay as a foil by both of them. It had definitely made the long drive seem shorter.

Even so, the injured muscles had stiffened up from sitting so long and getting out of the car was an effort that he tried to hide from the three men who were at the top of the stairs by the time he had managed it.

"Do you need assistance?" asked Actor quietly, watching the slow movements.

"I can make it," said Garrison firmly.

Despite his assurances, Terry flanked him and Actor followed on his heels as he made his way up the steps.

"Welcome 'ome, Warden," said Goniff cheerfully, stepping aside to let the officer in the door.

"What's the matter, Babe?" asked Casino before Garrison could reply to the greeting. "No pretty nurses?"

Craig stopped in front of the stairs in the foyer. "There were a couple," he admitted. "But what could I do? Mother Teresa here insisted she could take better care of me."

"Well, excuse me," said Terry with mock indignation.

"So how bad you get hurt?" asked Chief.

"Garrison gave a small shrug. "Not too bad. Just some shrapnel."

"More like a lot of shrapnel," snorted Terry. "You going up and lay down for awhile?"

"For a little bit." Garrison was not about to admit how much he wanted to stretch out in his bed. "It's hard to sleep in a hospital."

Terry shook her head and wandered off toward the kitchen. "I don't know why people think when they go to a hospital they're going to get any rest," she muttered.

Garrison made his way up to his room and shut the door. It was with relief that he sat on the edge of the bed that had been opened for him by his sister before she and Actor had left to pick him up. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt and stiffly shrugged out of it. Habit had him folding it neatly to lie on the bed beside him before standing to remove his belt and unhook the uniform pants. He sat back down and took a deep breath before attempting to bend over to unlace his shoes. That effort made his head pound in the back where he had been hit by a piece of metal and gave him an instant of lightheadedness.

A soft knock came to his door. "Who is it?" asked Garrison.

"Actor," was the reply. "May I enter?"

"Come in," replied Craig hiding the relief from his voice.

The door opened to admit the tall older man and closed behind him. With a solicitous smile, Actor approached the bed.

"I came to check on your dressings," the confidence man said.

Garrison watched as he folded his long legs and squatted down, automatically unlacing the high topped shoes.

Voice matter-of-fact, Actor said, "I am told you have a concussion. Better to accept some assistance than to pass out and fall on your head." There was a tiny twinkle of amusement in the voice at that last.

Garrison allowed the man to remove his shoes and then carefully pull the pants the rest of the way off. He watched Actor flow gracefully to his feet and take the uniform pieces over to his armoire, smoothing the material over hangers and hanging them with care from the bar. The grace with which the man moved was deceptive as Craig well knew. He had practiced enough hand to hand combat with the big man to know the strength, mixed with agility, which was underlying that aristocratic presentation. There was also a gentleness of touch that seemed incongruous with the haughty air.

"Is your cover blown?" Actor asked casually.

"No," replied Garrison for the second time that morning.

"Ah," said the con man, returning to begin an inspection of the bandages that covered several locations on the officer's body. "As the young lady was also out, I thought perhaps this was related to your mission."

Damn it, how did Actor know, wondered Craig in disbelief. "I don't know what _young lady_ you're referring to," he said pointedly.

The Italian gave his characteristic crooked grin. "Oh, come now, Lieutenant," he chuckled. "What possible information could a Wren be sent to your hospital bed to get?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," said Garrison pointedly.

The Italian did not pursue it. Instead, he perused the dressings on limbs and back. He grinned at the bandage around Garrison's left thigh. "Evening out the scars, I see," he remarked in reference to the last injury that had occurred on the opposite leg.

"Yeah, I did that on purpose," joked Craig, bringing a chuckle from both of them.

He eased back onto the bed, sinking into the comfort of the soft mattress, unsurprised when Actor casually draped the covers over him.

"Teresa is preparing a sandwich for you," said Actor. "If you need anything, we will be happy to assist you."

"Thank you, Actor," said Craig.

The tall man stepped to the door, pausing before going out. "She is a lovely young woman," he said slyly. "In a wholesome way."

Craig eyed him narrowly as he left the room, knowing the ladies' man was not referring to his sister.

It wasn't long before Terry came in bearing a plate with two sandwiches and a glass of milk on a tray. She set the tray on the chair and helped him scoot back against the pillows and the headboard. She set the tray on his lap.

"Did you tell Actor?" he asked accusingly around a bite of sandwich.

"Did I tell Actor what?" asked Terry. She carefully eased a hip on the edge of the bed and watched him eat.

"About . . ." Garrison wasn't sure how to proceed without giving the whole thing away. "About the Wren?"

"Terry looked at him with raised eyebrows. "No. I never mentioned her."

"Then how did he . . .?" Craig frowned in frustration.

Terry laughed. "He's Actor. If it involves a female, he'll know about it."

Craig shook his head and took a bigger bite of Spam sandwich. Even Spam tasted good compared to the hospital food.

"Give it up, Craig," said Terry still laughing. "Chris and I both have seen her now. We know you have to keep what you do in Norway and what you do with the guys totally separate." She sat down on the chair and her eyebrows furrowed. "I didn't know before," she said. "You probably wanted to go to your flat with her. Is there anything we can do to remedy that?"

Craig shook his head. "No. It wouldn't have worked anyway," he said. "She has to go back in tomorrow night."

"Sorry," the girl apologized. "You could have had today and tonight anyway."

Craig looked down at himself and the underlying bandages. "Yeah, and do what?"

His sister actually looked a bit uncomfortable. "Uh . . . I kinda try to not think about what you – uh – do. You're my brother for cryin' out loud."

That brought a chuckle to Garrison. "Now you know how I feel thinking about you and . . ."

"Craig!" protested Terry. "We're . . ."

"Not. I know," he reassured her. "At least not yet."

Terry looked at him with exasperation. "Pretty sure of us aren't you?"

"If I were the guys, I'd put money on it," he grinned, teasing her.

"They probably already have," she muttered.

"Face it, Sis," continued Craig. "You two can probably finish each other's sentences by now."

"So we're getting into each other's heads," Terry shrugged it off.

"That ought to be interesting . . . from a female perspective."

"I'm not his type," said the girl adamantly. "Will you give it a rest?"

Garrison figured he had teased her on that subject about as far as he safely should and nodded. He finished his sandwiches and drained the glass of milk.

"What's for dinner?" he asked.

"Fish," replied Terry, picking up the tray.

"Where'd you get the fish?" asked Garrison, suspiciously.

Terry's eyebrow went up. "I'm not telling you my Black Market connections."

Craig watched her head for the door. "Yeah, and if something happens to you, we'll starve."

Terry chortled. "No you won't. Just ask Goniff. He knows who half my suppliers are."

"Goniff?" asked Craig dubiously.

"Who do you think set me up in the first place?" She tossed a grin over her shoulder at her brother. "Take a nap or something."

Craig slid down in the bed as she left the room and closed the door behind her. Man, they had all come a long way from the ranch in Montana. This life bore little resemblance to the way they had grown up. That thought took his mind to Norway, which bore _no_ resemblance to the seemingly idyllic life they had known. Terry would have a major hemorrhage if she learned just what he and Jennie were involved with in Norway. Craig hoped his mother would never find out. The only person who might understand the proclivities of some of the population in Europe was Actor, and he was not about to attempt any kind of discussion with the aristocratic confidence man about that subject. He was already aware of the Italian's outlook on that.

Craig settled down in the bed and cleared his mind of anything except Jenny . . . his sweet Jenny. They had only been working together off and on since the middle of last year. Sometimes it seemed as though they had been together forever and yet it also seemed as though they had just met yesterday. The pain of his wounds was nagging, so he pulled his mind back in and let it wander back in time to just after his group of cons had been formed . . .


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Lt. Garrison stepped into the train car and found a seat in one of the compartments. He was bound for Scotland and he still had no idea what the actual mission was to be. All he had been told was that it was expected to provide a wealth of information coming in from Berlin and that he had the option to refuse. Refuse? Since when did the army give you an option to refuse?

He leaned deeper into the seat and made himself relax. It did no good to speculate on what he was walking into. Instead, his mind went back to the scene at the mansion as he was leaving in the pre-dawn darkness. That was worrisome.

Garrison had only been on a couple missions with his group of convicts so far. They were reluctantly learning to work together, but there was still the bickering and fights as they established a pecking order.

Goniff, the pickpocket and second story man, seemed the most malleable, though he could have moments of rebellion. He had teamed with Casino, the safecracker and demolitions man, from the beginning of the first mission.

Casino was loud, brash, stubborn, quick to pick a fight and quicker to throw a punch with little or no provocation. Still, there wasn't a safe or a lock he couldn't tease open with ease. And, Garrison was discovering, beneath the rude exterior was a mind that searched out all the possible frailties of a plan. He just could not articulate himself so others would pay any attention to what exactly he was saying without them losing their tempers.

The youngest of the group was Chief, the Apache. A hot car artist and killer, he was way too in love with the switchblades he kept hidden on his person. He was silent, withdrawn, and deadly. He kept to himself, but never turned down a fight. There was an invisible chip on his shoulder against authority and non-Native Americans that was the size of a redwood tree.

On the opposite end of that scale was the oldest member of the team, Actor. The confidence man was ten years older than Garrison, a fact that the lieutenant was keenly aware of though the Italian had never made any overt mention of it. Nothing the man said could be taken as truth; not even what was in the dossier that had come with him. No one knew Actor's real name, and Garrison did not for a moment believe the one on the dossier and his prison record was real. The suave, handsome, continental European had made no recognizable bid to become second in command, but Garrison had found him conveniently in that position. The man had ice water running through his veins, balls the size of which Garrison was still discovering, and was totally untrustworthy. Why Actor was staying with the group and had not already struck out for personal freedom in some neutral territory was beyond the officer's comprehension. Though the Italian presented a sedentary demeanor, when provoked or backed into a corner, those big fists packed a wallop . . . as Casino was frequently finding out. The other thing that was intriguing about the older man was his knowledge of medicine. Where that came from nobody knew.

The present situation was not helping their teamwork any. They managed to escape the confines of the mansion frequently and could be either found in the stockade or fighting amongst themselves and the locals at the Doves. Garrison housed them together in the upstairs common room. It had been changed into a dormitory of sorts with four metal army cots which, after relieving Casino of his spring steel pick, he handcuffed them to at night to keep them there. He didn't like doing that; it made them seem to be considered sub-human, but was a necessary evil as they proved time and again they could not be trusted. It was for this reason they had to be placed in the stockade while he was gone for the next week. Garrison had watched them being led away in shackles to the back of a transport truck. Casino and Goniff had voiced their objections loudly. Chief had kept to himself in sullen silence. It was at the back of the truck that Actor had paused and turned to give the lieutenant a look of disappointment and disgust. There was nothing to be done about it now until the officer returned and could start over trying to regain their tentative trust and turn them into the well-oiled team he was banking his career on.

It was late afternoon when the train crossed into Scotland and evening when it reached the station that was his destination. A corporal was waiting on the depot for him and escorted him to a staff car. The man had apparently been instructed not to give Garrison any information and the lieutenant kept to himself. After another hour, they turned off the paved road and began following narrower and narrower rural roads, eventually winding up a dirt drive that ended at a castle-like structure.

Inside the great stone building, Garrison was handed off to another corporal to whom he was required to show his identification. From there he was led upstairs passing an odd mix of British and American military and a smattering of civilians. Not for the first time, Craig wondered what he was getting into.

He was shown to a room that strangely reminded him of his room in the mansion with a bed, desk, paneled walls, diamond paned windows, and armoire. His duffle bag was set on the floor, he was given a salute, and the door was closed, leaving him alone. A covered tray was atop the desk beside a file. Craig tossed his hat on the bed, followed by his jacket, and he sat down to eat and read the instructions that were in the file.

As he tasted a delicious stew made of mutton, he read the first sheet of paper in the file. It was the typical security form reminding him that whatever was said behind these walls did not leave these walls. As he took a bite of bread with only a little sawdust taste to it, he picked up a pamphlet with basic greetings, questions and answers in Norwegian. Norwegian? Setting that aside for now, Craig picked up and read the next paper. Breakfast was at 0630. Someone would be around to escort him. He was strongly advised not to wander around outside his room. Obviously, this was not going to be your run-of-the-mill mission, even by his group's standards.

Working through his stew and bread, Craig opened a large, thin pamphlet. It outlined the boundaries of the grounds and gave a listing of the recreational activities and physical exercise areas available to him. It made him wonder if he was at a clandestine military base or a country club.

The pamphlet with the Norwegian lessons drew Garrison's interest. It wouldn't hurt to learn what he could. They had been to Norway once. Actor had been able to speak a few words, but was not fluent. Nice to know there was something the arrogant confidence man wasn't proficient in. Though not willing to acknowledge his admiration for the most dangerous man in the group, Craig found himself intrigued by the Italian's intelligence and level of knowledge. On the rare occasions the two had any semblance of a casual conversation, he was astonished by the wide variety of subject matter the older man could converse on.

Though he had not been apart from the men even twenty-four hours yet, Garrison found himself missing the noise and raucous behavior of his group of misfits. The shenanigans of the boisterous safecracker and the 'Limey' as he called the second-story man were oft times amusing. Chief was silent, defensive and hard to read. Actor, in his own way, was the one who kept Garrison on his toes. He had wanted the best confidence man he could get, and that was what he had gotten. The challenge was to keep one step ahead of the man so that he did not become the mark.

Norwegian. Craig opened the pamphlet to the first lesson.

GGGGG

The next morning, a corporal escorted Garrison to the large dining hall. Two rows of tables stretched the length of the room. At the far end was a buffet of sorts. Craig made his way along one wall, eyes casually taking in the scene. There were men and women present at the tables. Some wore American uniforms, some British and some in civilian clothing. It seemed an odd mix, but the young man had a feeling this was going to be an odd mission. He joined the line waiting to be served along the buffet. People in front of and behind him talked amongst themselves. This suited the lieutenant fine, giving him more opportunity to take in who had aligned themselves with whom. Expecting a division by country, service branch and gender, he was surprised to see a total mix of people for the most part.

The line moved and he took a warm wet tray from the recently replenished stack. Craig's attention turned to the food being put on his tray. There was a small bowl of oatmeal, canned fruit, more of the almost bread, and an infinitesimal spoon of scrambled powdered eggs. It was a little better than the daily fare at the Mansion. That made him wonder what his men were getting for breakfast in the stockade. Guiltily, he pushed that thought aside. Accepting a cup of tea from a server at the end of the buffet, Garrison slowly made his way along the wall searching for a seat at the tables.

He found one to his liking beside a young blond man in a U. S. Army uniform with the rank of first lieutenant. Asking if the spot was taken, he was invited to join the lieutenant, a Canadian, and a Brit in civilian clothing. Other than a nod to the newcomer, the Canadian and the British men kept to themselves, not even talking to each other. That left the American lieutenant.

"Hi," said the blond man, offering up a hand for a handshake. "Name's Randy Johnson."

"Craig Garrison," replied Craig, shaking the proffered hand.

He looked at the tray before dumping some sugar in the tea. At least there was sugar. He had not yet acquired a taste for tea. It was something his mother had made the kids drink when they were sick. He spooned the fruit onto the oatmeal and mixed it in.

"You have any idea what you're here for?" asked Johnson around a bite of bread.

"Not a clue," replied Garrison, not that he would have said if he did know.

"Me neither," the younger man continued unconcerned. "They just asked if I was interested in doing something a little different from the usual command and kind of combat. I take it to mean Special Forces."

Well, I'm already doing that, thought Craig, wryly. He wondered if the Army was thinking of setting up more convict teams. His men weren't working as a cohesive unit yet, but there was a definite improvement. At least up until now. They were bringing back intelligence that was extremely useful and the Brass seemed pleased with that, even if they weren't pleased with the men.

"Have to wait and see," said Garrison.

The conversation changed to home towns and past histories. The younger lieutenant was so enthusiastic and boyish Craig couldn't help thinking he'd never be able to handle a group like the Gorillas. Craig had enough of a problem controlling them and he was older and more experienced than Johnson. Still he was a pleasant enough guy.

The dining room must have been under observation thought Garrison. As soon as someone was finished eating, they were quickly whisked away. He and Lt. Johnson were met by different corporals. In the main hall, they split and were lead toward opposite wings of the big building.

Corporal Bradley was silent as he escorted Garrison to an office on the third floor. He was left standing in an anteroom while a lieutenant announced him to the occupants of the inner office. He was immediately gestured into the room.

Craig came to attention and saluted as an dark haired army colonel looked up from behind the large wooden desk in front of curtained windows. His salute was returned sharply.

"At ease, Lieutenant," said the colonel, watching him closely.

Craig assumed an at ease stance. He was aware there was a woman in a chair to his left, but he made no move to look at her. That was not to say he was not aware the woman was studying him. There was silence in the room as the colonel opened a file on the desk.

"Sit down, Garrison," said the colonel.

Craig now got a look at the woman as he sat in the chair beside her. She was younger than him; closer to his sister Terry's age. Wavy brown hair framed blue eyes and a red lips. She wasn't gorgeous, but she got his attention. She wore civilian clothes; nothing fancy, and sensible shoes. At least she was wearing real hose. And she was eyeing him as he was her.

"I am Col. Jackson," said the officer.

Garrison's attention snapped back to the commanding officer.

Jackson continued. "Jennifer Musgrave, Lieutenant Craig Garrison." He turned his attention to the younger officer. "Garrison, it has been brought to our attention that you are well versed in the use of unorthodox methods of accomplishing your missions against the Germans."

Craig remained silent, waiting. He was very aware of the appraisal he was getting from the woman beside him.

"Miss Musgrave has been working for SOE for several months now. She is in deep cover and now requires a male partner. It is more than an unorthodox situation and it is quite dangerous. If you find this of interest to you, I will continue. Otherwise, we will end this meeting now."

"Sir . . ." Craig began to question.

"In other words, Lieutenant," he was interrupted by the colonel, "you have the right to refuse without any consequences."

It was just the right bait to dangle in front of Garrison. "Unorthodox interests me greatly," replied Craig.

He could not see the tiny partially suppressed smile on the face of the woman beside him.

"We thought it might," said Col. Jackson.

"What about my current assignment, Sir?" Craig asked. He was just starting to get somewhere with his cons and he really did not want to give that up.

"Your current assignment will continue, separate from this one," replied Jackson. "Your participation will only be for a couple days to a week at a time. Your . . . _men_ . . . will be accommodated as they are now while you are gone." He paused. "Shall I continue, Garrison?"

"Please, Sir."

The middle-aged superior officer relaxed back in his chair and watched the reactions of the two in front of him as he outlined the mission. The woman was smiling now. Garrison looked interested.

"Miss Musgrave is working as a housekeeper at an institution in Oslo, Norway. You have a proclivity for languages and accents, Garrison. You will have a crash course in Norwegian. Miss Musgrave is acting as a refugee from England and her familial home of Dublin, Ireland. She appears sympathetic to the Nazi cause, but is not actively involved in it. She is pulling good information from her place of employment. We feel more information could be obtained if a man were to infiltrate the business. You will be established as her husband. You are American. You came to Norway after the attack on Pearl Harbor to evade the draft. You deal in import/export, more commonly known as the black market. Your wife has recommended you to her employers as someone capable of procuring supplies for their business. This gives you the cover of not staying in one place for too long at a time to avoid capture. Your home range is most of western Europe. Feel free to ask questions at any time, Garrison."

"Yes, Sir," replied Craig. "Just where do I get these supplies?"

"We will fill your orders. You have no compunction of acquiring your goods from either side."

"Just what kind of establishment is this?" asked Craig.

The answer he received caught him by surprise. His expression did not change, but he silently watched the colonel, stifling a strong urge to look at the woman.

"Whatever your personal feelings are, Lieutenant, can you accomplish this?"

Craig nodded. "As long as I am just a business partner and do not have to participate in the business itself."

"We have given you the cover of being married to Miss Musgrave. It is up to you how you use that cover."

Garrison nodded again.

"Are you in?" asked Jackson.

"Yes, Sir."

Now the woman grinned openly. The colonel smiled.

"Welcome to the family, Petr Andersen," said the woman for the first time in a soft British accent.

Craig looked at her. "We changed our names so we would not be discovered by anyone who might be looking for us."

"He catches on quick," said Jenny with a bigger grin.

"And my wife's name?" asked Garrison.

"Well now an' that would be Kiera," she replied with a broad Irish accent.

Craig had to grin back at her. "Nice to meet you, Kiera." He turned back to the officer who was sitting back watching their interaction. "When do I start, Sir?"

"Now," was the reply. "You will stay here for a week's training and then return to your other assignment. We will establish your cover in Norway and Germany. When that is ready, we will end you in for a few days for your initial contact with your new buyers."

"Yes, Sir," replied Garrison. Well this was definitely going to be interesting, he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

Craig's Story

Chapter 3

Terry returned to the kitchen with the tray to find Actor with his head in the refrigerator. She resisted the urge to pinch his backside. Once in one day was the man's limit.

"What are you after?" she asked, skirting around him.

"The sandwiches you made for the Warden looked good," he replied.

"Spam is on the top shelf." Terry put the dirty dishes into the sink and set the tray on the counter. "You pull out the fixings and I'll make the sandwiches. Have the others eaten?"

"Of course," replied Actor in disgust as he began loading his arm with bread, Spam, mustard and butter. "You expected they would have the courtesy to wait for us?"

"No," replied Terry, "but miracles can happen. At least they washed their own dishes this time."

She took the food from him and set about making more sandwiches. Actor pulled a chair away from the table, swung it around and straddled it to watch her.

"You are wicked," said Terry with a little grin.

"At times," admitted the con man proudly. "And what have I done that is so wicked this time?"

"Teasing Craig about the Wren."

"Ah, Jenny," said Actor.

Terry froze and stared at him. "How did you find out her name?"

Actor grinned smugly. "I have no intention of teaching you all of my secrets."

Terry snorted and went back to what she was doing. "I would imagine there are quite a few I don't want to know about."

Actor merely smiled.

Terry set a plate with two sandwiches in front of the Italian and picked up a half sandwich of her own.

"Maybe sometime in the future," the man said with an innocent air, "if you are good, I will instruct you on how to take care of some of my _deviations_."

Terry choked on her spam. "And what makes you think I would want to?" she sputtered.

"All women do," said the ladies man arrogantly.

"Oh stuff a . . . sandwich . . . in it, Actor," the woman shot back. "Besides," she said with an insincere smile, "I might teach you a thing or two."

One raised eyebrow and a tilt up of the right corner of his mouth showed her that he doubted that. The pinched mouth and flashing eyes of the woman told him he had best stop that line of teasing. The last was not something he would normally say to a woman, but then Teresa was not a normal woman. Which of course meant she was not done yet.

"I can't believe you were flirting with those young nurses," Terry said. "What do you do, add up their ages until they reach a decent number and that makes it right?"

Actor stifled a grin and rose with dignity from his chair. "Jealousy does not become you, Teresa," he intoned.

Leaving his empty plate on the table for her to clean up, he turned his back and went out the kitchen door.

"Watch it, Actor, or you're gonna find a spam sandwich up your _culo_!" threatened the girl. "What am I, your blasted maid?" she called out.

He walked slowly away with a backward grin of triumph. "Really, such language," he chided her. The grin dissolved to a doleful shake of his head as he rounded the end of the stairs into the common room and the loud guffaws of the other men who had only heard the last exchange between the con man and the woman. Ah, this was becoming fun.

Upstairs, Garrison was pulled from his reverie by the laughter from downstairs. He smiled. One of them was at it again. He could never tell the men how glad he was they had stayed with him and become the team they were. Just as he could never tell them, other than that one time with Actor, how much they had become friends to him. Some things were better left unsaid . . . at least until the end of the war. If they all survived. He pushed that thought away and closed his eyes to take a nap.


End file.
